


The Great Lube Experiment of 2011

by Yesilian



Series: The Game Is On [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dildos, For Science!, Lube, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yesilian/pseuds/Yesilian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Can be read separately.</i>
</p><p>In which Sherlock buys twelve different kinds of lube and John has to help test their efficiency.</p><p>  <i>John and Sherlock weren't in a relationship, but only because they didn't call it that. They were friends who often shared a bed, greeted each other with a kiss to the hair and sometimes cuddled on the couch. Made out in bed, knew every blemish on the other's body, that sort of thing. So when Sherlock came home one day not soon after with a black, nondescript, opaque bag filled with a number of small bottles, not only did John know exactly what was in there, but he also knew that some way or other, he would be made part of what could only become the Great Lube Experiment of 2011.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Lube Experiment of 2011

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the The Game Is On universe and is set in the Spring of 2011, between John telling Sherlock that he's not capable of being in a relationship and The Fall. It's straight up, 6000 words of sticky, non-penetrative PWP. If that's your glass of tea.
> 
> These scenes got ultimately cut because they serve no purpose. In TGIO I only kept what furthered the plot but this? This is just indulgent. Please enjoy two healthy, happy men in love grasp at every opportunity to touch each other.

 

The Great Lube Experiment of 2011

 

April 2011

It started on a crime scene.

“Why would they own two different types of lube?” Sherlock asked, half-intrigued, with his usual nonchalance about sexual themes in public places. John felt a blush creeping up and forced his body to cool.

“Maybe they just bought the second bottle somewhere when they forget to bring the first one,” he offered as an explanation and hoped it would shut Sherlock up.

“No. Both bottles are next to each other in the bedside table and both have been used to a different degree. If one wasn't satisfactory they'd have thrown that one out. If they had bought one as substitute, they would have still continued to use the other one first. Are there great differences between different brands of lube?” Sherlock had taken both bottles into his hands and studied their labels. Half the officers at the scene had stopped working and were instead looking at him, smirking smugly at the inexperienced detective, who was so interestedly inspecting the lube. The blush won out and John felt his cheeks heat.

“Maybe they used it for different things?” he said, trying to keep his voice down, aware of the many pairs of eyes on them. Sherlock was oblivious. He looked up at John, gob-smacked.

“Different things?” he repeated. John took a step back and looked his friend up and down. Was it... didn't he know there was more than one thing one could do in bed?

One of the minor officers stepped up and furthered his embarrassment.

“That one,” he pointed at the bottle in Sherlock's right hand, “is extra strength. Good when you're using the big toys,” he said. John looked at the young man startled, who wasn't embarrassed in the slightest and only shrugged. “I have an adventurous girlfriend,” he said, completely unimpressed. John hated young people who could talk about sex so unaffected. It wasn't very English.

But worse yet, by the look on Sherlock's face, John would have to deal with a lot more questions or worse later. He pretended not to see Sherlock pocketing the extra strong lube and groaned inwardly.

 

:::::

 

John and Sherlock weren't in a relationship, but only because they didn't call it that. They were friends who often shared a bed, greeted each other with a kiss to the hair and sometimes cuddled on the couch. Made out in bed, knew every blemish on the other's body, that sort of thing. So when Sherlock came home one day not soon after with a black, nondescript, opaque bag filled with a number of small bottles, not only did John know exactly what was in there, but he also knew that some way or other, he would be made part of what could only become the Great Lube Experiment of 2011. Once more, he groaned inwardly and shook out his paper, determined to be busy should Sherlock ask for him.

But the other man was quiet and after a quarter of an hour John's curiosity won out. He threw his paper aside and got up from his chair to walk over to the kitchen. There, Sherlock had emptied part of the table and spread out his purchases, a notebook open and a pen poised. John counted a clean dozen of small tubes and bottles, in all kinds of colours and shapes, strangely. You'd think there were only so many shapes lube could come in, and you'd be wrong.

“Okay,” John said, resignedly, because he felt he at least had to show a token reluctance. “Hit me. What's this then?”

“Lube, John,” Sherlock said in the same voice he usually said _obviously_ in. He didn't spare a glance at John and John rolled his eyes, nonetheless.

“Yeah, I figured. But why, Sherlock? Why do you need twelve different kinds?”

“Research,” the answer was. John crossed his arms and waited for a better explanation. Sherlock noticed and heaved the sigh of the unfairly misunderstood.

“It was brought to my attention that there are special lubes for special acts. I've set out to verify their validity.”

“And how are you going to do that?” John asked, because that was what was worrying him so much. Up until now he and Sherlock had succeeded in not actually having sex, something John wanted to save for when they had settled all of their problems. A kind of reward for taking the next step. With all that lube and whatever steps Sherlock had come up for testing them, they were, after all, still _lubes_. There was no point in all of this if one of the tests wasn't testing how well they lubricated.

John laughed. Trust Sherlock to come up with a pseudo-scientific way to make him have sex.

Sherlock looked up at the laugh. “What?” he asked.

“This is going up on your blog, isn't it?” John asked, chuckling, because the alternative would be crying.

“Part of the scientific process is publishing your findings,” Sherlock said primly and rearranged the bottles in front of him into an order that only he understood.

“I'm not going to have sex with you _for science_ ,” John clarified. Sherlock's look at that proclamation was one of pure wonder, he was actually gaping.

“Who _ever_ said anything about having sex?” he asked incredulously, as if the idea of using lube for sex was completely outrageous. John licked his top teeth and waited ten seconds.

“Okay. Talk me through it. How will you test it?” he said then.

“There will, obviously, be a chemical analysis of the concoction. Other parts will test the colour, smell, taste, feel, density, stickiness, overall pleasantness, and lastly, effect.”

“And how will you test the effect?” John asked because that was the point, wasn't it? “And how will the different tests be weighed? And lastly, and I really should have asked this first, did it ever occur to you to just read the test results other people have already published? Read a review on Which? or something?” Sherlock waved the last objection away.

“People on the internet are hardly scientists. Their assessments are far from what I would call _objective_. But to answer your question, this.” And Sherlock pulled something from the black bag that John had suspected to be empty already. It was, of course, a dildo. Not too big, a little longer than would be average, a little wider maybe. It was John's turn to gape.

“Sure. Shoving that up your arse, how could I ever think sex would be any part of this,” he deadpanned after he had swallowed down his surprise.

“It's completely scientific,” Sherlock assured, but John could tell he was a little too adamant to believe it himself. John snorted. “Really,” Sherlock promised. “I refuse to be aroused by it.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” John said and turned around to get back to his paper.

“It would only temper with the results. I won't be needing your help,” Sherlock called after him.

“Hm.” John didn't believe it for a second. He gave it two days, max. How Sherlock expected to not become aroused when he pushed that dildo up inside of him, was an absolute marvel to John. When his own arousal was stirred by just thinking about his gorgeous maybe-something-like-but-not-quite boyfriend playing with it.

 

:::::

 

It took much longer than two days. The first days were spent analysing the contents. John made sure he was nowhere near the mortuary, where Sherlock took his purchases to use their machines. He could just imagine Molly's look and that was enough for him. It was five days later when Sherlock crawled into his bed about an hour after John had retired there himself. He wasn't able to fall asleep and so was still awake when Sherlock came in.

“Come here,” John murmured lazily and drew the taller man against his chest. He was so tall, that for in order to lay his head on John's chest he had to scoop so low that John's toes bumped against the middle of his shins. It was somewhat weird, cuddling someone to him when he was so much smaller. Sherlock nudged one of his legs between John's knees, pressing his cock into John's thigh. It was a normal circumstance by now, what with Sherlock sleeping in the nude as a principle. John had to admit he had rather come to like it. Sherlock's skin was marvellous, flawless and soft and almost hairless on his back. An absolute highlight to touch, so John let his hand wander unperturbed. Sherlock snuggled closer. When it came to intimacy, he would never say what he wanted or even enjoyed and John had had to figure it out for himself. But this, gentle caresses, it was a safe bet.

His hand reached the curve of Sherlock's arse and as John felt a little adventurous tonight, he let his fingers slid still lower. Until they encountered something new. Something sticky. For a moment, John stopped, somewhat startled, until he remembered the experiment.

“Did you,” he started.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. John chuckled and pressed a kiss into Sherlock's hair.

“So, how did you like it?” he asked good-naturedly. Sherlock shrugged and tipped his head up to look at John in the semi darkness of the night.

“Inconclusive. It didn't fit,” he said.

“It didn't... fit?” John repeated, processing it and following the thought to its conclusion. “What, the dildo?” he said. Sherlock shrugged again.

“How is that inconclusive? Shouldn't it be a point against the lube, if it didn't help, you know, to lubricate you? What about the others?” John asked.

“I didn't try the dildo with the other lubes. Tonight was the first time I tried that, that's why it's inconclusive. I'm willing to attribute this failure to my own inexperience rather than to the lube.” John was more interested than he cared to admit.

“What did you try with the others, if not the toy?” he inquired, positive he sounded almost bored with it. Of course Sherlock saw right through him. He laughed a little laugh and flicked his tongue over the nipple nearest to him. John drew in a sharp breath. Of course Sherlock knew he liked that, for all that he has never done it before.

“I thought you wouldn't get involved in this?” Sherlock reminded him mockingly.

“No, I said I wouldn't fuck you for science,” John corrected.

“Hm. Have you told your penis?” Sherlock asked and pressed his thigh a little more against where he felt John fill out slowly. John moaned at the contact.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” John informed him. He flipped Sherlock over so that he was on his back and John between his legs. “Stupid thing doesn't listen,” he said and bent down to kiss Sherlock. Sherlock responded immediately, pressing himself flush against John with his hands on his arse to push their groins together. John let the kiss carry on for a few minutes, grinding against the man underneath him, feeling their cocks grow, his own still in its cotton prison, Sherlock's beautiful, dark pink one free between their bellies.

“Tell me what you did,” John murmured against Sherlock's lips.

“Used my fingers,” Sherlock answered breathlessly and claimed his lips and tongue back.

“Hm, I bet you did,” John said and gave an extra hard push, making them both throw their heads back in a deep-gutted groan. “How would you like mine?”

“'d love them,” Sherlock answered desperately. John slid down his body, putting kisses along the way, giving his cock the same attention he did his belly.

“Fuck,” Sherlock swore through gritted teeth and clenched the sheets. John sucked one of his balls into his mouth and rendered him momentarily speech- and breathless. He nuzzled his thigh.

“Breathe, love,” he said, sounding so very smug and mouthing at the soft skin of Sherlock's thigh until it bruised under his lips and lapping at it as if to make it better. “Did you bring the lube?” When all Sherlock did in answer was to breathe laboriously, John bid down. Sherlock rose off the bed a foot, John laughed after his shock had passed.

“Easy, there,” he said and smoothed the skin over Sherlock's hip. Sherlock had thrown his arm over his eyes. His chest rose and fell, the tempo slightly worrying John. He threw a look at Sherlock's cock and belly, making sure the man hadn't just come already. There was a small pool of liquid forming under the head, but it was too little to be more than admittedly copious amounts of precome. John put his head on Sherlock's stomach, an inch from his cock, breathing on it hotly. His finger played lazily with the fluid there, giving Sherlock a moment to catch his breath. When he had become calmer and John could no longer feel his pulse hammering away under his cheek, he put his wet finger between Sherlock's buttocks.

“The lube, dear?” he asked again as he probed a little. There was still some lube there and Sherlock's own semen helped let John slip the tip of his finger in easily. He stopped at the knuckle, though.

“Dressing gown,” Sherlock said. John loved making him sound and talk like that, incomplete sentences in a low growl. He was almost positive he was the only one that had ever reduced Sherlock to that. Reluctantly, John left his place on and around the other man and groped for the silky garment on his bedroom floor. Finding it, he searched the pockets for the lube and found there, the dildo. He shook his head.

“It feels like a set-up,” he said when he returned. Sherlock didn't answer. John repositioned between his legs, his head again on his stomach where he could mouth at his cock if he wanted to. He propped Sherlock's other leg up and to the side, spreading him a little. He deposited the dildo on the bed and started coating his fingers in the lube.

“Feels normal, if you're keeping tabs,” he informed Sherlock who only groaned in reply. Amused, John kissed his belly. His hand crept back between his legs and slid round between his buttocks. John circled the hole for a while, slipping his fingertip in every now and then to spread the lube. Then he pushed deeper. He could see Sherlock's cock twitch in response at the exact moment his finger disappeared in him. It was dead fascinating. John didn't wait long before he pushed a second finger in alongside, knowing Sherlock had probably been doing the same an hour or so earlier and feeling he was open enough for it. The third one was more problematic.

“How many fingers did you have in there, Sherlock?” John asked. He knew that Sherlock was in a place where talking was a problem for him, having had him in the exact same position before and delighting, just a bit, in torturing him. Because Sherlock made John's life not really easy himself, and this was some form of retaliation.

“Two,” Sherlock pressed out. His arm was back over his eyes. “Please, John,” he begged. John's tongue flicked out to lick the head of his cock in sympathy.

“No wonder the dildo didn't fit, that's not enough for you,” he chided him softly. His fingers pushed in and out of Sherlock's hot arse and his thumb massaged the perineum, brushing against his balls every once in a while. He couldn't help, he had to tease him more, knowing the effect his voice had on his lover. “Your hot, tight arse. It'll take ages before you can take me.” Sherlock shook under him. “Is that what you want? My cock? In you? Sherlock? Tell me what you want.” He spread his fingers in him, feeling the hot, rippled texture of the walls and marvelling how this was his life. How this gorgeous creature not only let him do it, he begged him for it.

“Sherlock?” John prompted when no reply came. Sherlock gasped.

“Your cock,” Sherlock almost shouted. “Please, John, I want your cock!”

“What about it?” John teased, rubbing his cock against Sherlock's leg.

“I want it in me, feel it in me. Come in me. Please, John. I need it!” John withdrew his fingers and mouthed at Sherlock's cock at the same time, making him hiccough and sob above him. Very quickly, John lubed up the dildo and pressed it against Sherlock's arse.

“Another time,” he promised, kissed Sherlock's belly and pushed in. He was open enough for half of it before John felt some resistance. He withdrew the toy, applied even more lube and pushed back in, sinking most of it in. It was enough, he decided, and started fucking Sherlock in earnest with the light pink silicone. Sherlock was now sobbing, breathing shallowly and meeting John's thrusts as good as he could. His cock was jumping on his belly until it fell against John's mouth, when John swallowed the head down and pressed against it with his tongue. With a scream and no warning, Sherlock came in him. His hips pushed up into John without his doings, his come, all that John couldn't swallow in his surprise, flowing back out at the corners of his mouth. Sherlock came for a long time before his hips stilled. John chose that moment to slip the dildo out of him, throwing it aside. As discreetly as possible, he wiped his mouth on the sheets. He needn't have worried, Sherlock was too far out to notice anything. A huge grin was on his face and John's heart skipped a beat when he saw it. He crawled up Sherlock's body and shoved and pulled at him until the taller man was arranged to his liking. He went out like a light once he had snuggled into John's chest. It was cute, John thought, privately, it would have almost been lovely, if he hadn't been so hard himself. He waited a moment until he could be sure Sherlock was really deep asleep, until he heard his gentle snores, before John took himself in hand and finished it quickly. He just replayed what had just happened and it didn't take long, even if it wasn't his most satisfying orgasm to date.

“Another time,” he repeated his promise to himself.

 

::::::

 

After that, it became routine and John was, as predicted, part of the experiment.

“Just promise me that you won't put that part on the blog,” he said one day a week later when Sherlock was bent over the kitchen counter and John worked the dildo in and out of him. Much to Sherlock's chagrin, the experiment wasn't going as fast as he had preferred. Once he had got John on board, Sherlock had thought they could speed through the dozen samples, but John had unfairly put a stop to those plans.

“You have to make sure there is no other lube in your arse before we can start with the next sample,” he had pointed out.

“I _showered_ ,” Sherlock had answered, with evident disgust in his voice that John should question his methodology.

“And give said lovely arse some time to recover,” John had gone on without so much of an inclination that he had heard Sherlock. Sherlock relinquished an answer and let his expression do it. John then groped his arse, kneading his cheeks and pulling them apart. Sherlock jumped in his arms.

“Ow,” he yelped, looking at John as if he had betrayed him. John merely arched a brow at him, as if his body's reaction was all the proof he needed. Begrudgingly, Sherlock conceded the point.

 

:::::

 

Some days after that, John came home with a look on his face and a stance that had Sherlock's immediate attention.

“What is it?” he asked, flirtatiously moving towards John. He grabbed one of the untested bottles of lube on his way and slipped it into John's trouser pocket before he crowded the smaller man against the wall next to the front door.

“Can't you deduce it?” John asked, just as flirtatious and a little nervous. He tipped his chin up, silently asking for a kiss. Sherlock bent down to grant it, kissing him heatedly, jumping straight to the foreplay. John still had his jacket on and Sherlock put his hand over where something was in his inside pocket. Something big.

“Don't need to,” Sherlock said. “I know exactly what you brought me.” His lips found John's again and he bit down, distracting him from when he unzipped his jacket and stole the package still in a bag. John's little moan was as good as anything he could give Sherlock.

“Why don't you go and open it then?” John suggested and gave a little shove to get Sherlock going. Like a child, Sherlock went to the kitchen, a spring in his eager gait. John looked after him smiling fondly. He took off his jacket and put it on a hook on the door, but not moving otherwise. The front door, one of his fantasies. He was good there.

Sherlock returned with a new dildo, turning it around in his hand, eyeing it interestedly. It was flesh-coloured, a little shorter than the other one, but a lot wider around, too. Sherlock shot John a look with a brow arched. He weighed the toy in his hand.

“Interesting,” he said, smirking. John's hand went to the nape of his neck and he pulled him down to resume their kissing.

“I thought so,” he said into Sherlock's mouth. “Thought you might want to start practising with this one.” He sucked on Sherlock's tongue and his lips, his other hand fisted into the lapel of his jacket. Sherlock's hands were on his waist. The dildo pressed into his back and it was just too weird for John.

“Took me ages to find that one. Shall we get started?” he asked freeing himself from Sherlock and making them switch places so that Sherlock was leant against the door. He sucked on his neck. “How do you want it then?”

“I. Want. You,” Sherlock said. His hands went to John's belt and unbuckled it.

“Another time,” John told him but let him continue undressing him. They kissed, if you wanted to call it that. Their teeth clashed and it was a fight over who could suck at whose lip, who could bite first, who could trap whose tongue.

“Always _another time_ ,” Sherlock mocked frustrated. He had got John's belt open and pulled it from his trousers and John let him. He also let him unbutton and unzip him and reach into his pants to pull out John's cock, half hard and growing in Sherlock's hot hand. He fisted it and stroked twice.

John had leant his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder and shut his eyes at the first contact, breathing heavily. Sherlock bowed his head to not miss a moment. He watched mesmerised as his fingers trailed along John's length. It was the first time he held him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. John laughed.

“Yeah, I rather think so,” he quipped and raised his head to meet Sherlock's eyes. They smiled at each other, little, arousal-pained smiles.

“Together then?” Sherlock asked.

“Together,” John agreed. Sherlock stopped his stroking.

“How?” he asked. John took a moment to compose himself. He took a step back, making Sherlock whine at the loss of contact, and made quick work of his trousers and pants, shoving them down and indicating to him to step out of them. For a moment John considered his jacket and shirt before he decided he rather liked him wearing those still. Sherlock stood before him, impeccably dressed in a business suit from the hips up and in socks. It was at once utterly ridiculous and sexy as hell.

“Fuck, you're hot,” he said and kissed him with bruising force. John took Sherlock's right leg in hand and made him sling it around his waist. “This okay?” he asked when he spared a moment from kissing him. Sherlock only nodded. He was fast going into the zone where he could only talk when prompted and threatened with sensation withdrawal. AKA right where John wanted him. He smirked smugly and reached for the lube in his pocket. It was warmed proficiently by his body heat, a tactic Sherlock had come up with a while ago, and ready to be used.

“You tasted this already?” John asked. He knew Sherlock had, but it was fun to make him talk. Sherlock only nodded.

“Might want to taste it myself, first,” John said. He poured a drop on his finger and smeared it against the skin in the hollow of Sherlock's throat. Sherlock moaned, knowing what was coming. This was one of those lubes that hotted up when it came in contact with skin. It was on the brink of being uncomfortable, but it wasn't on his neck for long. John started lapping it up soon enough, reducing Sherlock to incomprehensible moans and groans that might have been words but no-one could tell, least of all Sherlock himself.

“I don't like it,” John told him when all was gone. “Too sweet.”

“Me. Me neither,” Sherlock informed him, a stuttering mess. It was great.

“Let's see how it feels in your arse,” John said and without further ado, pushed two fingers in. Sherlock shouted in surprise. John was always gentle with him, but he knew by now what Sherlock could take with sufficient lubrication.

“So? How do you like it?” he asked after a minute. Sherlock's head was thrown back against the door, his eyes shut so tightly that tears were leaking from the corners. His face and chest where flushed and it was all John could do not to turn him around and shove up into him. John licked his lips, so dry without Sherlock's on them, and stared at him hungrily from four inches away. This sight had yet to cease to amaze him.

“Hot. Don't. Uncomfortable,” Sherlock said through barely opened lips. He was back to biting them immediately after. John licked at Sherlock's teeth where they pushed down into the soft flesh and he growled.

“Want me to stop?” John asked. He'd hate to, but if it was unbearable, he would.

“Don't you dare!” Sherlock positively threatened and even opened his eyes to lend force to his words. John made him shut them again by pushing in the third finger.

“Fuck,” Sherlock said, drawing out the word. John loved it when he swore, when his lush mouth formed the filthy words. John grabbed his hand that held the dildo in a death grip and brought it up to pin it next to Sherlock's head on the door.

“Watch,” he ordered. With everything going on, Sherlock still never failed to follow an order when it came from John. He opened his eyes and they immediately fixed on the toy. John kissed him, sloppily, with a lot of spit. Their saliva mixed in Sherlock's mouth and then John let him go and licked the dildo, making it shine with their combined spit. Sherlock whimpered.

“Oh God,” he said through hiccoughs. Of course it wasn't enough lubrication, but it got Sherlock just that level higher. Captivated he watched John apply a liberal coat of lube, unable to look away. His eyes were almost all black when he watched the dildo disappear from his sight and felt it push against his arse.

“Ready?” John asked. Sherlock couldn't even nod, merely closed his eyes and stopped breathing. John pushed and it went in. It was much wider than the old one and Sherlock felt the stretch, felt his muscles giving way, the slight burn. It was uncomfortable and he wanted nothing more than to have it even further up inside of him. In his position he couldn't do a lot to get it where he wanted it and John enjoyed teasing him too much to give him what he longed for, so all that was left for Sherlock to do was whimper more.

“One day,” he stuttered lowly, “Gonna. Make you. Pay.” John chuckled.

“Yeah, I almost believe you. Can't wait, princess,” he said, punctuating his words with a push and a kiss that took the sting out of his words.

“Can you do it?” John asked a minute or two later, when he had got Sherlock to a good point.

“What?” Sherlock asked some seconds later.

“Fuck yourself on the dildo,” John said and delighted in Sherlock's delicious reaction to the word. It was another half minute before Sherlock nodded, his hand, shaking, lowering between his legs from behind and he took over on the toy. John watched him, better than every porno he had ever seen, and gave him a moment before he assaulted his senses even more by taking his cock in hand. But this time, he aligned his own cock with Sherlock's and pushed them together. Sherlock shook and it was so very good that John had him pinned against the door or else they would have both been on the floor by now. John had enough lube on his hand to make the strokes smooth. He, too, didn't like the feel of the lube and made a mental note to throw it away once they were done here. Shame for the ten wasted quid, but he'd never use it again, anyway.

It wasn't long before he felt the tell-tale signs of Sherlock coming. John moved his hand faster, giving the little twist on the upstroke he knew Sherlock liked, to make him come.

“Come on,” he said against the so sensitive skin of Sherlock's neck, “Come for me. Fuck yourself on my dick and come for me.” John's tongue flicked out to lick at the line of the tendon straining in exertion. Sherlock stopped shaking, stopped moving altogether and stood catatonic. His mouth fell open in a silent scream and then he came. His leg fell from around John's waist in a loud thud. For a moment John was worried out of his mind, stilling himself, but then he felt Sherlock's come hit him on the underside of his jaw and on his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asked, unable to hide the panic in his voice. Sherlock didn't answer, only fell limp in John's arms until he was lowered to the ground and sitting up against the door, mindful of the dildo in him.

“Sherlock? Love?” John asked, worried. He removed the toy and checked his vitals. Sherlock's pulse was racing, but he looked okay otherwise. After a minute, his eyes focussed on John and he grinned widely.

“God,” Sherlock said. He laughed, it rumbled through his chest.

“Christ,” John said and slumped against the wall next to him. “You frightened me.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock offered. His head fell against John's shoulder. “Won't happen again. I suppose you don't need any help with that now, do you?” He motioned at John's cock, which was deflating fast. John waved it away.

“No, I'm good,” he said. He turned his head to press a kiss into Sherlock's damp curls. “I'm good.”

 

:::::

 

One of the lubes didn't even make it into the final test. It tasted of strawberries, or what idiotic chemists thought strawberries should taste like, and Sherlock was adamant it never touch his body. He threw it away straight away.

“How much did you spend on all this?” John asked, his eyes following the tube's flight in the direction of the bin.

“80 pounds,” Sherlock said unimpressed and wrote down his disapproval.

“80 pounds!” John repeated. “For lube! When we had perfectly working stuff already.” Sherlock then gave him one of his pitying looks, one of those John hated, because it meant Sherlock felt genuinely sorry for his lack of intelligence.

“The lubricant you so describe is odourless, tasteless, watery and costs 5 pounds 65 per 100 millilitres,” Sherlock recited. “Hardly 'perfectly working'.”

“All I hear is you discounting it because it's cheap,” John gave back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on then, tell me what your 'experiment' has yielded so far.” He put the word into air quotes, knowing Sherlock hated those. Sherlock consequently looked at him through squinted eyes.

“I've come to realise that I prefer lightly scented ones with a less liquid density, a quality you find only in the ones that cost more than eleven pounds per 100 millilitres.”

“Yeah, you might prefer to taste them _now_ , but it's something different altogether when you taste it _on_ somebody,” John informed him. He was barely able to mask the condescension in his voice. So this was what Sherlock felt like when the topic wasn't sex. John had to monitor that, but it felt good to be the knowledgeable one for once. And Sherlock conceded the point. It led to a memorable experiment that night, where they took turns licking each and every sample off each other's bodies.

“I don't like it,” Sherlock said after they were done and lying next to each other, staring at the ceiling. “I can't _taste you_ underneath it,” he complained.

“Told you,” John said. He was, he found, strangely happy, reaching for Sherlock's hand on the sheet between them and intertwining their fingers. Sherlock squeezed his hand once.

When it came to it, Sherlock binned all lubes that heated up. He said he didn't like when lube did anything else than what it was supposed to be doing. John didn't really agree, finding one of those quite interesting. Yet, he could already see where their sexual relationship was headed and agreed, silently, that it was up to Sherlock to choose what lubricant he wanted to use.

Three tests had to be repeated before Sherlock could come to a conclusion.

“Why?” John asked. He didn't really mind, but thought it wise to offer at least a token protest lest Sherlock started thinking he could order him do just anything.

“Because I tested those three myself, without your help. You became a factor later on and all tests involving you yielded, on average, a much higher result. I can't be sure of the initial results before I eliminate this aberration.” It sounded reasonable and John was game.

“We have to do another round with five samples,” Sherlock told him after that was done with.

“Why?” John asked once more. Truth was, it was somewhat amusing for him to see Sherlock come up with ever more ridiculous excuses to be intimate with him. Twelve samples in, they still hadn't had penetrative sex and John was curious to see how much longer he was going to be able to keep deferring it.

“I liked those five, but I can't say which one I liked the most,” Sherlock explained.

“So we keep doing it until you found the one that gets you off most easily,” John asked.

“Don't be ridiculous, John. This is a serious experiment,” Sherlock told him, appalled by his failure to see the scientific gravity.

“Of course it is, love,” John said and got up to get ready for the surgery, dropping a kiss on Sherlock's head as he went and ruffling his curls. Sherlock huffed in exasperation, barely able to hide a smile.

In the end, John was pleased to find that his cheap, Tesco brand, store-bought lube made it top five and Sherlock found the one he liked best and purchased the big bottle of it. John didn't ask about the price. The five test-sized bottles found their way into various places all over the flat, wherever they had been used the last time. It led to one famous incident when Mrs Hudson found not one, but two of them one time she tidied up for them. She later swore that she didn't mind the least and was open-minded, but that she wouldn't be cleaning for them any more if they insisted on keeping their 'sex toys' everywhere. John had to buy her a big bouquet to placate her while Sherlock only shrugged and failed to see the problem.

 


End file.
